


Words of Solace

by Marshmallow3



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Nudity, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 04:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18113141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmallow3/pseuds/Marshmallow3
Summary: Imagine - helping Connor grieve Achilles' death.





	Words of Solace

You stir in the middle of the night, Connor’s radiating warmth missing from your side. Thinking he’d probably gone to answer the call of nature, you think nothing of it, closing your eyes and listening intently for the creak of your bedroom door, so that you might cuddle him upon his return. As the minutes tick by, the house as quiet as the stones that compose its foundation, you begin to worry.

Sitting upright, you scan the dark room with a frown. No note has been left for you, no imprint in the bedsheets to prove he had been there, no sound of him moving in a neighbouring room. No, something’s not right. Though you had grown used to going to sleep alone, if Connor were there with you in the evening, he wouldn’t be leaving for assassin business until dawn. And after a glance at the ominously ticking clock, you learn it’s barely 1AM.

After wrapping yourself in a thicker robe and executing a frantic scour of the house, you spy a faint flame in the distance through a back window. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, you ignite your own lantern and step out into the chilly night air.

Behind your house runs a lake, just deep enough to fully submerge oneself. The two of you often go there during the Summer to cool down, you even do the laundry in the crystal-clear water if the weather is good, but you can’t imagine the water would be that inviting when it’s barely Spring.

You spot Connor treading the water, his clothes discarded on the rocks with the lantern close by. Bar the kicks of his legs, he barely moves, his head tipped skyward as he stares into space. His honey skin gleams in the moonlight, the beams catching the water and highlighting the chiseled curves of muscle, his back facing you with his dark strands clinging to the space between his shoulder blades.

“My love, what are you doing out here?”

He tenses, lowering his head from the sky and shivering as though only just registering how cold it is.

“Apologies, Y/N. I just came out here to think.”

“Shall I leave y–”

“No,” he interjects, turning his head a fraction. “Please stay, if you could.”

You pause for a moment, looking over the bear of a man before you. He could hide his face all he wants, but you can hear the choking of tears in his words.

And you’re hardly surprised. He hasn’t been the same since finding his Mentor dead. Connor had done everything possible to wipe out the Templar Order, put his life on the line umpteen times, his resolve never once broke. The sacrifices he’d made, he only wished Achilles could be there by his side, to watch the world grow and flourish into something new, something greater.

Overcome with the urge to hold him, you strip your layers, shrugging your nightgown over your head and shimmying out of your underwear as you dip a toe into the lake, fully submerging your leg once you deem it warm enough. Connor peers over his shoulder at you sinking into the lake, unfazed by your nudity; you wordlessly open your arms, gesturing for him to come closer.

He wades over to you. You had pictured letting him rest his head on your chest while you smooth your fingers through his hair, but even in the water the difference in height is staggering. Instead you wrap your arms around him as best as you can, laying your head on his shoulder and peppering his neck with comforting kisses.

You hear him exhale sharply, sobs tearing out of his throat. You console him with a gentle “shh shh shh”, your fingers rubbing lazy shapes on his shoulders.

“It’s okay, let it out.”

He rests his chin on your crown, breathing through his sobs.

“Everything will be okay, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Everything will work out just fine. It was his time to go, he’s much happier now, I’m sure.”

Looking down at you with a glassy gaze, you find yourself wiping away the tears from his eyes, your thumb brushing across his cheeks to catch the meandering teardrops as you speak simple words of solace.

“I’m sorry–”

“No,” you state firmly, pressing your finger to his lips and giving them a single tap. “There’s nothing to apologise for. You lost someone dear and you’re upset. There’s no shame in proper emotions.”

He nods in response, his lips trembling. You find yourself brushing your thumb over his lower lip, your eyes fixating the beautiful pout. Breathing shakily, his warm breath hits the pad of your thumb and you find yourself inching your face closer to his, your hands sliding to his jaw and cupping his face, glancing up at him.

Blushing, you realise his eyes have been fixed on you for the last few moments, watching your every move. Now they bore into yours with a hunger you’ve never seen before. It’s not quite a carnal hunger, but it’s more of a burning need for the intimate touch of you against him.

And well, who are you to deny a grieving man?

Arching your back, you mash your lips against his, the water lapping at your chest from the sudden jolt forward. His hands slide down the front of your body with ease, the water making his warm palms skim over your slippery breasts, your nipples already firm from the biting chill of the night. Your lips roll over one another’s in delectable open-mouthed kisses, your heads tilting from side to side sporadically. He tugs at your bottom lip, trapping it between his, eliciting hushed moans from you, the kindling of sparks rushing under your skin at his practiced actions. You bump noses when one of you needs air, your lips stalking the other’s as though you’re both afraid to go a moment without the heated connection.

After a while of exchanging kisses, he kisses your nose, humming as you close your eyes and coo sweetly at his affection. Noticing the goose bumps on your forearms and the flush stained in your cheeks, he guides the two of you out of the water.

“Come on, let’s go inside and get warm.”

Your eyes linger on the discarded sleepwear by the two lanterns Connor has bent down to pick up, momentarily distracting you with the shapely curves of his ass.

“What about our things?” You query.

He blows out a candle, seeing no sense in keeping two lit and passing you the extinguished one. Upon standing straight, his eyes linger on your glistening body, your breasts full, your nipples perky, your body trembling in a way that could only be attributed to arousal rather than the temperature.

With an eyebrow raised, he speaks in a matter-of-fact voice, “I don’t think we’ll be needing clothes tonight, Ehnita.”

**Author's Note:**

> 'Ehnita' is Mohawk for 'moon' and is the term of endearment I chose between Ratonhnhaké:ton & his love.
> 
> Also, I just realised I didn't post my Tumblr.  
> I have a Tumblr, where I write this stuff plus texts, conversations, imagines and drabbles for my F/Os, Jacob Frye, Ratonhnhaké:ton and Shay Cormac, as well as other assassins.
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/marshmallow--3


End file.
